


what is stronger than the human heart which shatters over and over and still lives

by MagicaLyss



Series: Bluer Than The Sky (Whumptober 2019) [14]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Dissociation, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Pepper Potts Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Precious Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 13:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21374728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicaLyss/pseuds/MagicaLyss
Summary: Whumptober Day Sixteen - Pinned DownNothing matters. He can’t breathe, can’t sleep, can’t eat. He’s an empty shell of broken fragments, whatever’s left of himself.He’s nothing.Vacant eyes and a blank expression, pliant limbs and empty words.He’s gone.All because of Thomas.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Pepper Potts & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Bluer Than The Sky (Whumptober 2019) [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1502675
Comments: 14
Kudos: 480





	what is stronger than the human heart which shatters over and over and still lives

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Rape/Non-Con, violence, dissociation, suicidal ideation, panic attacks

“I won’t tell him!” Peter gasps, squirming underneath the hand on his throat, pinning him to the cold bathroom floor. “I won’t! I swear!”  
  


Thomas grins, eyes crinkling. “Knew you wouldn’t, Petey. You’re such a good boy, you know that?”  
  


The younger boy pushes weakly against Thomas’s arm, too panicked to think about using his spider strength. He should’ve been able to push him off a long time ago, but all he can think about is Skip and being pinned down to his bed, cries muffled by the man’s scratchy palm.  
  


“Please-” Peter begs, voice cracking as tears spill down his cheeks and into his hair. “Please, Thomas, please, I can’t-”  
  


“You can and you will, Pete. I’m only doing what’s best for you, you hear me?” he says, voice lilting gently. “You always act like a little prude, I’m just helping to broaden your horizons a bit. Tony would love you more if you were more relaxed.”  
  


Peter opens his mouth to continue pointlessly begging for freedom, but this gives Thomas the perfect chance to push his t-shirt, removed from his body, into Peter’s mouth, effectively gagging him from making any more noise.  
  


“I know you think you’ll hate this, Pete.” Thomas’s eyes glint dangerously as his hands roam around Peter’s body. “But I’ll show you a good time.”

  
*  
  


Peter limps into the lab, plastering a smile onto his face. He went straight to his room after Thomas left and he cleaned himself up this morning before deciding to face them. He tried to remember how to walk normally, like how he taught himself to do after Skip, but he couldn’t get it down right.  
  


“Hey, Pete!” Tony exclaims, grinning brightly. He looks happy and well-rested, a perfect image of someone who has no idea what’s going on behind closed doors. “You went to bed pretty quickly last night, you feeling alright?”  
  


Thomas isn’t around. Peter could spill everything to Tony. He could admit to what happened last night in the bathroom. He could make this all end. Right here, right now.  
  


But then he remembers what Thomas said.

_If you don’t do as I say, I’ll do the same to your dear little sister. So I’d be a little more careful if I were you.  
_

So, he pushes everything down. He ignores the desperation that claws at his chest and the tears that threaten to break his dam. He pushes it all away. He can’t do that to Morgan. Better him than her.  
  


“Yeah, had a headache last night,” Peter says, voice strained. “Feelin’ better now, though.”  
  


If Tony noticed anything out of the ordinary, he doesn’t mention it.  
  


“C’mon, Thomas is making pancakes upstairs.”

  
*  
  


After The Final Battle, they moved back to the tower so Tony could be closer to Peter, and Morgan could go to school in the city.  
  


Tony had decided a week or two ago (Peter knows it’s nine days, six hours, and thirty-seven minutes… Not that he’s counting) that he wanted a second assistant. To help him out in the lab now that he’s a little bit weaker, take care of Morgan if everyone was busy, that sort of thing.  
  


And he had found Thomas, a twenty-two-year-old who’d been snapped and was looking for a job now that his college had been destroyed.  
  


And sure, Thomas was nice enough. He played with Morgan, he was pretty smart in engineering and physics, he could cook, he was on his college football team, he had a little sister of his own. He was a good fit for the Stark Family.  
  


Until, of course, everything flipped.

  
*  
  


Thomas, blond hair, blue eyes, strong arms, bright smile, intelligent mind, stands in the kitchen. Morgan’s on his hip, a spatula in his other hand.  
  


He looks perfect, objectively.  
  


Nothing like the man who pinned Peter to the bathroom tiles the night before, gagged him with his t-shirt, and spilled the teenager’s blood over the light blue floor.  
  


They could’ve been two entirely different people.  
  


And Peter’s starting to believe that maybe they are. Different people. Maybe he imagined it. Maybe it was a dream.  
  


But when he takes a step forward, a spike of pain pierces through his spine, and Thomas turns, sending him an obnoxious wink.  
  


“You feeling alright there, Pete?” he says, voice rough and eyes darkening. “Lookin’ a little pale.”  
  


He flexes his strong arms around his hold on the six-year-old and smiles.  
  


“Yeah, I- I, um, I’m fine,” he chokes out, trying to keep a hold on his sanity. He can’t crumble now. Not when _He_’s holding Morgan, and Tony went to the bathroom, and Peter needs to keep the people around him safe.  
  


“That’s good. You wanna help me set the table, Morgs?”  
  


Morgan nods excitedly, kicking her feet until Thomas sets her down on the floor.  
  


Peter remembers being young. Being her age and untainted, unmarked. He remembers having that kind of enthusiasm and innocence. He remembers that and it got ripped away from him when he was only nine.  
  


He can’t do that to Morgan. He can’t.  
  


He’ll keep his mouth shut if it’s the last thing he does.

  
*  
  


It’s a routine. He spends Friday night through Monday morning with the Starks. Sunday nights are when Thomas strikes like a snake awaiting his prey.  
  


Bathrooms are the only place without FRIDAY’s supervision, and bedrooms are only audio recordings, visual only if strictly necessary. Thomas knows this, so he gets Peter alone in the nearest bathroom he can get Peter locked in, as long as it’s far enough way so nobody would hear them.  
  


Every Sunday night, Thomas destroys a fraction of Peter’s broken soul.  
  


Twenty-three days, sixteen hours.  
  


Three Sundays.

  
*  
  


He has to find a turtleneck to wear Monday morning, hands shaking and knees weak. He heads to the kitchen, wishing he didn’t know what was under his shirt. Wishing he could stop seeing Thomas’s smiling face and promises of it getting better once Peter gets used to it. Wishing he could rid himself of the image of him in the mirror, stained in watercolor bruises. Wishing he hadn’t woken up that morning at all. Wishing he was never brought back from the snap.  
  


“Thomas went home early this morning, said something about an appointment, so I can’t make any of his fancy breakfasts. All I’ve got for you is cereal, kid, hope that’s good enough,” Tony’s saying.  
  


He’s sitting at the head of the table, coffee in one hand, tablet in the other. Morgan must still be asleep, having been up late last night because of Thomas’s ‘long bathroom trip’ in the middle of their movie.  
  


“Okay,” Peter murmurs. He worries if he lifts his voice, he’ll break. The lump in his throat is already threatening enough, he can’t overdo it.  
  


But he’s limping and wearing a turtleneck and he wouldn’t be surprised if there were leftover tearstains down his cheeks from nightmares and nightmares brought to life.  
  


He has no idea how Tony hasn’t put two and two together yet.  
  


It’s a little bit too obvious.  
  


“You okay, Pete?” Tony asks.  
  


It takes all of his strength not to flinch at the nickname, but he finds himself nodding before he even has to think about lying.  
  


He skips breakfast, skips saying goodbye to Tony, skips getting a ride from Happy, and walks to school.  
  


When he gets there, everyone’s milling about, and people are smiling and laughing and having conversations and Peter barely even feels like he’s alive.  
  


How are all these people just _okay_? He doesn’t understand. He can’t understand.  
  


He reaches the bleachers in the back of the school and sits down in the grass beneath them. It’s damp from the cold night and he pulls at it with his trembling fingers.  
  


Choking on a sob, he hadn’t even realized he’d started crying.  
  


There’s a hand on his shoulder, but it doesn’t scare him. It’s gentle and feminine, careful. Cautious.  
  


“Peter?” MJ calls out quietly. Her face is drawn in cartoon lines like someone tried to sketch it out based on a bad description. She doesn’t look real. Like the world has become 2-D.  
  


His hands are shaking and he can’t feel his feet and his spine aches in a way it shouldn’t ever ache and the world is crumbling around him-  
  


MJ holds him, solid and warm and strong, as he falls apart, crying into the soft fabric of her sweater as he watches the world melt into a paused scene of an old black and white movie.  
  


But MJ’s there and she’s real and that’s the only thing keeping him from losing himself for good.

  
*  
  


Three Sundays and a Saturday, just because Thomas wanted to change things up or something, Peter feels like he may as well be dead with how empty he feels.  
  


Nothing matters. He can’t breathe, can’t sleep, can’t eat. He’s an empty shell of broken fragments, whatever’s left of himself.  
  


He’s nothing.  
  


Vacant eyes and a blank expression, pliant limbs and empty words.  
  


He’s gone.  
  


All because of Thomas.

  
*  
  


He dreams about Skip.  
  


Skip fill his sleeping moments and Thomas fills his waking ones, giving him no rest from this nightmare.  
  


He _tries_, he tries so fucking hard to keep people’s worry off of him, but it’s impossible to when he can barely remember who he is these days. The world passes in a blur around him.  
  


May’s always worried about him, always doting on his every need. Tony’s better at hiding his worry, but it’s still painfully obvious. Even _Morgan_’s been walking on eggshells around him.  
  


“Peter?” Tony murmurs. His hands hover between them, unsure. Peter doesn’t want to be touched, all he can think about is Thomas’s hands on his body and it makes his stomach flip. “Hey, buddy, you’ve been staring at the wall for a long time. You doing okay?”  
  


Peter nods, a reflex reaction to that question.  
  


Tony sits down across from Peter, leaving a good few feet of space between them. Peter couldn’t be more grateful for the little things.  
  


“You sure, bud? You haven’t been looking too good for the past few weeks…”  
  


Six weeks, peter wants to say. It’s been six weeks, seven times, and nobody knows, and he’s so fucking tired.  
  


He doesn’t though, he can’t.  
  


“Where’s Morgan?” Peter asks. He could’ve sworn he saw her around not that long ago.  
  


“She left a few hours ago to go to school. Thomas offered to drop her off.”  
  


Peter swallows down the panic. He’s been doing exactly what Thomas asked. Morgan isn’t in danger. Thomas swore not to hurt her as long as Peter complied.  
  


A violent flinch is ripped from his body when Tony’s hand gets too close to his arm. The mechanic pulls his hand away like he’s been burned, eyes wide.  
  


“Pete-”  
  


“Please, I-” Peter tries to say, but the words get caught in his throat. He can’t do it. He can’t tell Tony that he’s a failure. That he couldn’t keep Morgan or himself safe. That he was so weak to let Thomas do these things to him. That he can’t stop thinking about being nine and having Skip’s hands on his body and his words like bullets to his brain.  
  


His hands shake violently as he grabs onto the fabric of his pants, bunching them into his fists to try to convince himself to pull it together. He needs to calm down. He needs to focus. Tony can’t know. If Tony knows, Morgan will get hurt.  
  


“Peter,” Tony starts, face filled with too much love and concern, it makes Peter want to vomit his truths onto the carpet. “Peter, I- I need you to trust me, okay? Is someone hurting you? I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”  
  


“I can’t.” He’s crying, he can taste the tears in his words, but he _can’t_, he can’t say those words again. He can’t do any of it again. “I can’t, please, Tony. I- I can’t tell you. I can’t. _Please_, Tony. I-”  
  


Peter hides his face in his hands, hating how pained and awful he sounds, hates how desperate the noises he’s making are.  
  


But then, to make everything a million times worse-  
  


“Oh my- Is that a hickey?” Tony gasps, suddenly pulling at the hem of Peter’s turtleneck. “Oh my god. Shit. What the fuck?”  
  


In response, Peter just cries harder. Tony must know now. And Morgan’s going to be crushed, she’s going to be subjected to the same hell Peter’s been through and she’ll hate Peter for the rest of her life. She would’ve been fine if Peter was just a little bit stronger.  
  


“Shit- No. Is this- Is this what I think it is?” Tony says. He sounds heartbroken. He sounds like he’s drowning. “Were you- Did someone hurt you?”  
  


He doesn’t answer. He can’t answer. He can’t own up to that. He doesn’t know how.  
  


He just cries.

  
*  
  


The only thing worse than knowing that Tony knows is when Thomas walks into the penthouse and it’s evident that he sees everything that’s happened.  
  


His smile falls off his face and his hands tuck into his pockets to hide his anger.  
  


“Everything okay?” he says, words carefully calculated.  
  


Peter can’t blame Tony for being so fucking oblivious to everything happening in his house, he really can’t.  
  


“Yeah, everything’s fine, Thomas. I actually just realized, I forgot it’s Morgan’s show and tell day and she didn’t bring in her toy. Could you go drop it off for me?”  
  


Peter flinches. Thomas thinks that Tony knows, and he’s being given permission to go see Morgan? Not on Peter’s watch.  
  


“I- I- Thomas, please,” Peter tries. There’s no way he can get his point across without Tony seeing right through it. “_Please_. I, um, I-”  
  


“Peter,” Thomas says, voice low and warning. “You up for a drive? Maybe some fresh air will do you some good.”  
  


He can’t stop shaking, hands and knees and head, and the tears are still curling down his face, staining his cheeks and hooking onto his jaw. He can’t breathe and Thomas is watching him, face morphing into Skip’s and back again, and he can feel Tony’s eyes on them.  
  


“Please, I-” Peter tries to say through the tears that choke him and threaten to drag him under the water. “I-”  
  


“Peter,” Thomas says, just the slightest bit more demanding. Only Peter would’ve been able to hear the difference. “Morgan will want to see you. You don’t want to leave her alone, do you?”  
  


He can’t think, he can’t breathe, he can’t see-  
  


“Yeah, of course,” he says. If anything, Morgan comes first. She always does.  
  


“Are you sure-”  
  


He wants to scream, he wants to beg, he wants everything to stop.  
  


But he pushes everything down. Locks it up.  
  


Wiping away his tears, he offers Tony a smile. “Everything’s fine… I promise. I just need to get some fresh air. When I get back, we’ll talk, okay?”  
  


In Tony’s mind, Thomas is safe. Trusted. The one who brought Peter down this must could never be Thomas. It’s not Tony’s fault that he doesn’t stop Peter from leaving with Thomas.

  
*  
  


Thomas’s hands are clenched around the wheel, car flying down the roads, not the right direction to get to Morgan’s school. At least she’ll be safe. The scenery blurs out the window, but Peter doesn’t _care_.  
  


He doesn’t care that Thomas is going to kill him inside and out. He doesn’t care that he may never see Tony or Morgan or May ever again. He doesn’t care about anything. His mind is blank and his chest is empty. A void.  
  


He doesn’t care when he’s pulled into a ratty motel on the outskirts of the city. He doesn’t care when he hears the door lock with an echoing click, sealing his fate. He doesn’t care.  
  


Morgan’s safe. That’s all that matters.

  
*  
  


Thomas is gone when he wakes up.  
  


The motel room is small and empty, the sky dark outside the dingy window. His clothes are missing, and he can feel blood on his stomach and staining his face. Thomas was angrier than Peter’s ever seen him.  
  


But the room is quiet and empty.  
  


He fumbles for the phone sitting on the nightstand beside the twin-sized bed and nearly forgets the phone number.  
  


She starts rambling almost as soon as the phone is picked up, “Jesus- Oh my god. You left and nobody’s heard from you for almost _twelve hours_, Parker. What the fuck is going on? I covered for you with Tony because I didn’t want to throw you under the bus, but it’s been twelve fucking hours and there’s _search parties_, actual fucking search parties out for you because nobody knows where the fuck you went!”  
  


“MJ?” Peter says, blank and empty as always. He can barely breathe and he’s too tired to cry anymore. He just wants to go home. He wants this to be over. He can’t breathe, he can’t think.  
  


“I’m here, Peter,” MJ says, quiet this time. He’s never heard her so frazzled before.  
  


“I- MJ?”  
  


She takes a deep breath. She sounds like she’s been crying. “Peter?”  
  


“I need help,” he says. “Please.”  
  


“Where are you?” she asks. “I don’t have the skills to track your phone like Ned or Tony would.”  
  


There’s a tattered poster on the wall, one that shows the map for a fire escape plan. On the bottom, the motel’s name is written, faded and nearly too stained to read, but he can read it. It might be the only thing that saves his life at this point. If Thomas comes back, he’s done for.  
  


“Okay, Peter, okay,” she says. “I’m coming, okay? I’m coming for you. Just stay where you are. I’ll be there as soon as I can, you hear me?”  
  


He tries to answer, but he can’t find the energy. Relief is flooding over him and he’s just tired and empty.

  
*

He dozes.  
  


He’s less panicked than he thought he would be.  
  


There’s no fear, no panic, like he thought there would be. There’s no tears, no panic attacks, no nightmares.  
  


He dozes and he watches the time pass and he waits. His soul was destroyed, his mind broken, his body too used to the pain. There’s nothing left of him other than a corpse. He may as well be dead. He wishes he never came back from the snap.  
  


He’s an empty cavern. He’s nothing. He’s gone.  
  


There’s a knock on the door and he wishes he were dead. It’s MJ. Thomas wouldn’t have knocked, he has the key. But he can’t move. He can’t breathe.  
  


“Peter?” MJ calls out quietly, knocking a second time. “Please- The door’s locked. I can’t help you if you don’t open up.”  
  


Eventually, he convinces himself up from the bed, wrapping the stained sheet around his thin body, shaking and barely able to hold himself up.  
  


As soon as the door unlocks, it’s flung open and MJ’s standing there, bloodshot eyes and jaw dropped. Expression more open than Peter’s ever seen it. He hates this is how he gets her to open up.  
  


“Peter-” her voice cuts off abruptly when she sees the state he’s in. “Oh, Peter.”  
  


Her face falls and she’s crying as she leads him back to the bed, sitting him down and pulling off her sweater to wrap around his chest. His limbs are pliant and he watches her impassively as her hands hover over his bruised and bleeding chest.  
  


“Oh god,” she says like he doesn’t know. “We have to call Tony-”  
  


“No,” he says. It’s the only thought he can hang onto. “Said he’d hurt Morgan if I told.”  
  


His voice is slurring badly and he’s shaking and he can’t breathe and he feels like he’s drowning. MJ _needs _understand.  
  


“Peter-”  
  


“Please?”  
  


She runs a hand through her hair, eyes closing as she tries to think.  
  


If the situation were flipped, he knows what he would do, so he’s not surprised when she picks up the phone.  
  


“I’m sorry,” she says as she dials. “He’ll keep Morgan safe, but he needs to keep you safe too.”  
  


_Too late_, he thinks. He doesn’t say it.  
  


He doesn’t hear the conversation, world blurring and head floating. He failed to keep Morgan safe. He wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone.  
  


“Tony’s on his way,” MJ says. She’s watching him carefully like he’s a hurt animal. “Morgan’s staying with Pepper and May. She’s okay, I promise. Tony’s coming.”  
  


He doesn’t care. He wants to cry. He wishes he weren’t alive.  
  


MJ holds his hand.

  
*

Tony arrives in a flurry of panic and worry.  
  


He falls to his knees in front of Peter, eyes too sad and he gently, so gently, cups Peter’s cheek in his calloused hands.  
  


And Peter falls apart.  
  


He collapses into Tony’s chest, sobs wracking his body because Tony _knows _and Peter feels weak and useless and everything hurts-  
  


Cries and cries and cries.  
  


And Tony holds him close, telling him that everything’s going to be okay.  
  


MJ gets back with a plastic bag. Peter hadn’t even realized she left, but she drove to the nearest store and bought him a pair of sweatpants from a local giftshop.  
  


They both turn around as he pulls them on, hating how badly his hands shake and how loose they are around his bruised hips. Hates that he can’t even tie them by himself, MJ does it for him when he cries pathetically.  
  


“Peter?” Tony’s voice is too soft, too gentle. It makes Peter want to crumble. “Can you tell me what happened? Who did this to you?”  
  


The teenager shakes his head, a sob bubbling up in his throat. He can’t tell them. He can’t go through this again. He remembers how hurt and guilty and pained May was when he told her when he was little. How she felt like it was her fault for letting Skip into her home and hurt her nephew.  
  


“Peter,” Tony repeats, even quieter. He already looks so sad, all because of Peter. “Please? I can’t help if you don’t meet me halfway. I need you to be safe, buddy. I just need to know who.”  
  


He can’t say his name, he feels like he’ll throw up. He can’t say it out loud, that would make everything real.  
  


“Remember last year?” MJ says suddenly. “When Ned broke his jaw in that accident? And we all learned sign language so we could communicate better? You remember that? And you were really good at it and we kept using it to talk about Flash and about our stupid teachers, yeah?”  
  


Peter’s hands are shaking as he lifts one of them into the air, stomach knotting. He fumbles over the letter H, but he pushes himself through the simple six letters. It’s weird to simplify everything he’s been through into six letters.  
  


“Thomas,” MJ whispers. She has no idea who that is, but Tony’s face falls like someone’s shot him in the stomach.  
  


“Oh god,” he says, crushed and heartbroken and drowning. “Oh god.”  
  


Peter nods, unsure of how to react. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t care.  
  


He’s led out to MJ’s car. She’s driving and Tony’s in the back with him. He can’t remember the drive back, he blinks and he’s back at the tower.  
  


Tony tells him to stay put. MJ’s watching him through the mirror.  
  


It could’ve been anywhere between a few minutes and few hours, Peter has no idea. All he knows is that soon enough, there’s cop cars with loud sirens and bright lights.  
  


Briefly he sees Thomas’s face, drawn up in anger and shouting at the cops who’re holding him between them. Thomas doesn’t see Peter.  
  


When it’s quiet, MJ brings him up to the penthouse, one hand on his elbow as though worried he may just disappear.  
  


As soon as Tony sees him, he’s at his side.  
  


“Can I- buddy, can I hug you?” he says, voice so quiet and delicate like Peter’s made of glass. Peter knows if he were glass, he would’ve been smashed to bits by now, Tony’s words wouldn’t be the thing to break him.  
  


Peter nods slowly. He knows Tony’s not Skip or Thomas, but he doesn’t really know how he’ll react to being hugged. He figures it’s safe because of how far away he is.  
  


Tony wraps around him like a blanket, curling over him protectively. Peter falls into the embrace, barely present and trying to hang onto the little bit of sanity it gives him.

  
*  
  


He doesn’t sleep that night. He sits in the corner of his bedroom, furthest away from the attached bathroom. His bladder is full, but he’s too scared Thomas will be waiting for him.  
  


What comes next?  
  


He remembers this from the last time. (He hates that there was a last time. He hates that now that this has happened, Skip carries less important even though it shouldn’t. It was a life-changing experience for the worse and now that Thomas has come and go, he doesn’t know how to feel about anything.)  
  


He knows what comes next. Statements and explaining the same thing over and over and over to everyone who asks. Detectives, friends, family, officers, lawyers, attorneys, press. He hasn’t thought about it in years. Skip had been there at the hearing. He’d been sitting just a few rows over from Peter and had been glaring at him the whole time, telling lies up on the stand.  
  


He remembers it blurrily. He doesn’t remember feeling _this _shit last time though.  
  


When morning comes, he’s awaiting the questions.  
  


He sits on the edge of the couch, knees tucked up to his chest, MJ’s sweater wrapped tight around his shoulders. Morgan’s staying with May and Happy in the city, they decided it would be better. MJ went home last night. So Peter only has to deal with Pepper and Tony this morning.  
  


Waits and tries to remember his own name. He knows how this goes.  
  


Tony shows up, eyes sad. Old tear tracks down his face. He sits across from Peter, leaving plenty of space between them. Peter almost wishes he didn’t, but he knows he would crumble.  
  


“Peter-”  
  


“It’s okay,” Peter says. It isn’t but he’s detached and empty and he can’t remember a time when he wasn’t shaking. “I know I have to tell you. I know how this goes.”  
  


He forgot Tony didn’t know about the first time. Doesn’t know about Skip.  
  


“You don’t-”  
  


“I’ve done this before, Mister Stark,” Peter says quietly. He refuses to meet Tony’s eyes, refuses to acknowledge that he stopped calling Tony _Mister Stark_ since the snap was reversed. “I know I have to tell you and then tell the story again and again and again. I know this.”  
  


Tony sucks in a breath. “You can take your time, Peter. You don’t need to tell me anything if you don’t want to-”  
  


Peter frowns. “Yes I do. The longer I wait, the less true my story becomes.”  
  


A police officer told him that last time. Skip had just been taken and she had been trying to get the story out of Peter. She’d coerced him into talking by telling him the sooner he told the story, the less likely it was for him to lie.  
  


“That’s not true, Peter,” Tony says. He sounds wrecked like he’s been dragged through hell and back. “You’re allowed to take all the time you need.”  
  


Peter shakes his head. He remembers last time. He remembers Skip. He remembers how cruel the lawyers were, how degrading the judge became, how dehumanizing the press were.  
  


“He raped me,” Peter says, resting his chin on his knees. He swallows thickly, refusing to look up. Tony makes a noise of pain, somewhere caught between a stifled sob and a sigh. “Eleven times.”  
  


“_God_, Peter, buddy, you don’t have to-”  
  


“Peter.” Pepper’s standing in the doorway. She’s got the same telltale bloodshot eyes and tearstained face. “Tony’s right. You don’t have to put yourself through this yet unless you want to. You’re allowed to take all the time you need to process or work on recovering before you say _anything. _He’s going to be locked up for a long while whether or not you say anything. I promise.”  
  


“He said he’d hurt Morgan if I told anyone,” Peter says. He can’t look at either of them. He watches his hands trembling badly and the blanket draped over his legs. “He- He said- He said he’d do what he was doing to me, to her, and I- I was nine when it happened and I- I couldn’t put her through that and I-”  
  


He knows he’s not making sense, but his thoughts are jumbled between Skip and Thomas, and he can’t really tell the difference. He feels young and small and helpless like he did when he was nine, he doesn’t feel like the seventeen-year-old who’s saved the world more than once.  
  


“_Peter_,” Tony says and he sounds so hurt and broken, and Peter hates it. He hates that all he does is bring people down around him. “I’m so sorry, bambi. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought him into our home. I just- I’m sorry.”  
  


Peter shrugs, tucking a little closer to himself on the couch. “I’m sorry too.”  
  


“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Pepper kneels in front of Peter, putting herself in his line of vision. “None of this is on you, honey.”  
  


“I wish I never came back,” he says. It sounds weird to his own ears, especially as emotionless as it is. “From the snap, I mean. I wish- I wish I stayed gone, sometimes.”  
  


Tony’s there, at Pepper’s side on the floor. They’re both there and real even if they still look 2-D and like they’ll melt away if Peter blinks, but they’re there.  
  


“It’s gonna be okay,” Tony says. He doesn’t sound like he believes that. “Everything’s going to be okay.”  
  


It’s not much, but he has to start somewhere.

  
*

  
When May comes home and hears from Tony what happened, she cries.  
  


She bundles Peter up in his old blankets and one of Ben’s hoodies, the same ones he used when it happened the first time. She holds him close and cries into his hair.  
  


“My baby,” she said, over and over and over again against his head. “My baby.”  
  


He just sat and accepted her love and warmth without complaint. He didn’t feel real, so it was nice for someone to hold him together.

  
*

  
MJ texts him a few times, but he doesn’t look at them. He leaves his phone facedown on the coffee table (face down in the stained mattress, face down on the light blue tiles-) and doesn’t bother picking it up.  
  


He doesn’t cry, he doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t talk. He just sits and tries to remember what existence feels like.

  
*

  
“I was nine,” Peter says out of the blue.  
  


Tony’s there and that’s it. He sets down his coffee and tablet, and focuses his attention on Peter’s glazed expression.  
  


“What was that, bud?”  
  


“I was nine,” Peter repeats. “The first time, I mean. His name was Skip. He was my babysitter. I think he was sixteen or maybe eighteen. I don’t know, can’t remember much. I was nine and he- It only happened twice or three times. I don’t know… I just- I thought _that was the worst thing I can go through. It’s all uphill from here. _I guess not, you know.”  
  


He sounds angry and he wishes he was, but it’s all empty and dark inside him.  
  


“I’m sorry, baby,” Tony murmurs.  
  


Peter doesn’t think Tony’s ever called him that before, but he likes it. Pete and Petey were ruined by Thomas, Einstein by Skip. Baby is nice though.  
  


Shoulders slumping, Peter sighs. “He was so- He was so good at pretending. Thomas was. I thought I was losing my mind. It was like he was two different people. I just- I thought Skip was it. I thought Skip was the worst thing I’d have to experience, but then Thomas and he- he just-”  
  


Tony doesn’t say anything. He’s quiet. Maybe he’s scared he’ll cry if he speaks, Peter would understand that.  
  


“Will I have to see him at the trial?”  
  


“There won’t be a trial. All they need is a statement and it’ll all be done with,” Tony says. He sounds angry too. Peter wonders if he can feel anything. “You’ve got the best lawyers in the world on your side. You won’t have to see him ever again.”  
  


Peter nods. He supposes he should be relived, but the comforting words don’t really do anything.  
  


“It’s going to be okay, kid. I promise.”  
  


He wishes they were more than empty words.

  
*

  
May and Pepper speak in hushed words in the kitchen while Tony babysits him.  
  


“He was so young when Skip hurt him,” May’s saying. She’s crying. “He was just my little baby and he was so hurt, and I promised I’d keep him safe. I promised him and now…”  
  


“That was on us, May. We should’ve known… We should’ve-” Pepper’s crying too.  
  


He can imagine May shaking her head, taking some of the guilt. He can see them hugging in the kitchen, trying to find some sort of comfort from the amount of guilt they’re under.  
  


“I just- He’s just a kid,” May’s saying, voice quieter and muffled. “He’s _our kid_ and he’s been through so much and I just- He’s just a kid, a baby.”  
  


“I know,” Pepper replies. She sounds more torn down, stripped of everything, than she’s ever sounded to Peter. “I know.”  
  


“I’m sorry,” Peter blurts. He doesn’t mean to, but he needs to say it. “I’m sorry.”  
  


Tony looks up startled. “Buddy-”  
  


“You’re all so sad and I- I should’ve been stronger. I should’ve-”  
  


A sigh and then Tony’s sitting next to him on the couch, still carefully maintaining distance. “I’ll say this as many times as you need to hear it. One, none of this was your fault. Thomas was… He was awful. Everything that happened was his fault. And two, we’re sad because we love you and we hate seeing you hurt. You know that. But bottom line, we love you, kiddie. We do. And we’ll be here through the thick and thin.”  
  


He doesn’t know why it took him this long or why this is what sets him off, but the tears are back, strong as ever, cutting down his cheeks and pulling the air from his lungs.  
  


Without bothering to wait for Tony to ask if he can hug him, he tucks himself against his father-figure’s chest, hiding his face in the soft fabric of Tony’s sweater. And he cries for what feels like the thousandth time, allowing himself to sob shamelessly into Tony’s chest.  
  


With surprising clarity, Peter understands. He remembers being nine and scared and alone, but then he had May and Ben, and slowly but surely, he put his life back together. He got up again and again and again every time the world dragged him down.  
  


And now, he’s seventeen and he has Tony and Pepper, Morgan and May, MJ and Ned. He has a family who will be at his side and help him remember who he is, help him through this.  
  


He cries, knowing one day, this will be behind him.

  
*

  
He makes his statement the next day after another restless night.  
  


Tony goes with him. May offered, but he declined. She had to sit with him last time and she cried and he can’t do that to her again.  
  


Hand in hand, they sit in the familiar room and Peter tells the story.  
  


“Eleven times,” he says. “Six weeks, eleven times.”  
  


The bruises are gone. His black eye has faded, the bruises and hickeys littering his neck down to his thighs have healed. There’s no real proof. Except, he hadn’t showered so he has to go through the shit doctor’s experience, but he detaches and doesn’t feel any of it.  
  


“He said he’d hurt my little sister,” he says, “So I didn’t tell anyone.”  
  


He’s too skinny and there are nasty bags under his bloodshot, glazed eyes when he sees his reflection in the two-way glass. His collarbones stick out and there’s a faded hickey in the center of his right side where his neck meets his shoulder. It’s barely a yellow-ish color now that it’s been two or three days since he got it.  
  


“I didn’t want it,” he repeats. He’s said it too many times since he got here, but he doesn’t complain. “I didn’t want it. I was scared of what he’d do to my sister if I didn’t comply.”  
  


Tony gets angry at his side, trying to convince them that Peter’s telling the truth and to let them go home. They drone on about procedure.  
  


“I didn’t want it,” he echoes when asked again. “I was scared.”  
  


He doesn’t complain. At least this time he has Tony and nice lawyers who won’t make him go to trial. At least this time, he doesn’t feel anything.  
  


“I didn’t want it.”  
  


It’s routine.

  
*

  
He can’t sleep for the third night in a row.  
  


He barely has the courage to go to the bathroom and shower let alone close his eyes. It seems impossible.  
  


But when midnight comes and goes, and it has to be somewhere near three in the morning, sitting on the stupid couch, a pair of socked feet shuffle into his vision.  
  


He looks up to see Morgan, a teddy bear tucked into her grip and a blanket around her shoulders like a cape.  
  


“Hey,” he murmurs, voice scratchy and hoarse. He doesn’t remember crying but then again, he doesn’t really focus on much.  
  


“Hi,” she whispers. She doesn’t say anything more, doesn’t give an explanation, as she crawls up into his lap, tucking herself under his blanket.  
  


He tightens his grip, making sure not to hold her too tight. “You okay?”  
  


She nods. “You?”  
  


“Not really,” he admits.  
  


She nods again like she expected it. “I brought Mister Hugglesworth the Third to keep you safe.”  
  


The tattered bunny is pushed into his arms. It’s got a little monocle and a top hat.  
  


“Thank you,” he murmurs.  
  


Smiling, she tucks herself closer to his chest. “Daddy says you’re not feeling well. Says Thomas was a bad man… Momma and Auntie May say I have to be extra careful around you so I don’t hurt you on accident.”  
  


He feels more grounded than he has in a long time. “Yeah, baby. I’m a little messed up, but I’m going to be okay. Sometimes, bad things happen to good people.”  
  


“Like when you were Gone?”  
  


“Yeah, just like that. I’m kinda Gone now too, but only on the inside.”  
  


She touches the space over his heart. “Gone on the inside?”  
  


“A little bit.” He swallows thickly. “But Daddy and Momma and Auntie May are trying to get it all back for me.”  
  


She nods, biting her bottom lip. “I can hear your insides… Ba-bum-ba-bum-ba-bum. Did I get it back for you?”  
  


He wipes away the tear that slips out. “Yeah, Morgan, you did it.”  
  


“But your still sad?”

  
“Yeah… It’s going to take a little while for me to be back to normal… Are you okay to wait a little while before I can be normal again?”  
  


She contemplates this for a moment, chewing on the bunny’s ear. “Yeah, that’s okay. Sometimes Daddy gets sad because he forgets you’re not Gone. I get sad sometimes, too, when I think my toys are gone… Like how your insides are Gone. That’s okay.”  
  


He doesn’t know if he’ll _ever _get any of it back. He still can’t breathe or exist or remember who he is without feeling like he’s been shattered by Skip and Thomas, but Morgan’s right. It’s okay to not be okay for as long as it takes him.  
  


“I love you, bug,” he whispers.  
  


“Love you too!” she says, smiling. She holds up her bunny. “Mister Hugglesworth the Third loves you too.”

  
He tries not to cry at Morgan’s pure innocence, he’s never been more glad that it wasn’t broken by Thomas. It makes him miss when he used to have that kind of purity.

  
*

  
The first time he goes to therapy, he cries and cries and cries and then he bails, calls Tony, and leaves early.

  
The next time, he stays but can’t find the strength to talk about anything.

  
The third session, he finally opens up and his therapist says he’s on the road to recovery.  
  


Morgan and Pepper make him a cake to celebrate. Tony and May sit on either side of him and takes way too many pictures, smiling too bright for such a small accomplishment.  
  


May says she’ll be proud of every accomplishment, no matter the size.  
  


Tony presses a kiss to Peter’s temple and pulls him in for a selfie. It’s printed, framed, and hung in the lab within an hour.  
  


They’re both smiling and for the first time in a two months, Peter’s smile reaches his eyes.

  
*

  
He gets back to a healthy weight, starts sleeping in his redecorated, repainted bedroom. They redo the bathrooms on the floor as well and he finally stops seeing those nights in the tiles.  
  


He starts going back to school and MJ’s at his side, strong and real as ever.  
  


And then they get the call. Thomas is in prison for life, no ifs ands or buts.  
  


That’s it.  
  


The nightmare is over.

  
*

  
It’s a slow road to recovery, but he’s got his family at his side.  
  


He couldn’t ask for anyone better.  
  


Slowly but surely, he remembers how to feel whole again. Remembers how existence feels. Remembers how it feels to breathe.  
  


Slowly but surely, he recovers.


End file.
